Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 92

10:30 A.M.

Charles had been staring at the wall clock like it owed him money.

The second hand ticked louder than usual, each movement dragging across his nerves. He had showered early, dressed early, even skipped breakfast. His phone lay on the table in front of him, screen face up, as though it might suddenly disappear if he looked away.

10:42.

He stood up. Sat down. Picked up his phone. Dropped it again.

11 couldn’t come fast enough.

He hated this feeling. Waiting. He hated waiting.

By 10:58, he was already holding the phone in his hand.

The second it turned 11:00, he didn’t hesitate. He scrolled to her name.

**Amelia ❤️**

And he tapped on it. The call began to ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His jaw tightened.

Four.

Five.

‘Don’t you dare…’

Six—

“Hey.”

Her voice flowed softly through the speaker. Calm and light as always, almost relaxed.

Charles closed his eyes, his brows pulling together instantly.

“Hey,” he replied, but there was no warmth in his tone. “I have been calling, Amelia.”

A pause.

“I was busy,” she said shortly.

The simplicity of it ignited something sharp inside him.

“Busy?” he repeated. “For two days?”

“Yes,” she answered evenly. “For two days.”

His grip on the phone tightened.

“Too busy to return a single call?”

“I texted you.”

“You texted me and gave me a time slot,” he snapped. “Since when do I need an appointment to talk to my own fiancée?”

There was a faint exhale on the other end.

“Charles, I’m working and resting. I didn’t travel to be glued to my phone.”

His voice rose.

“So I’m disturbance now?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“No, you interpreted it that way.”

The calmness in her voice was even making it worse, because it felt controlled and measured.

Not like the Amelia he was used to— the soft one, the accommodating one, the one who would apologize even when she didn’t need to.

He swallowed irritation.

“What is going on with you?” he demanded. “You have been different.”

“I’m not different,” she replied. “I’m just busy.”

The word again.

Busy.

He laughed bitterly.

“Busy enough to ignore me?”

There was a slight shift in her tone now, it became firmer.

“I’m asking.”

His voice hardened.

“It is obvious you are the richer one in this relationship. So yes, it’s only right you help me when I need it.”

“Only right?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he continued, frustration pouring out unchecked now. “I don’t cheat on you. I try to be faithful. I respect you. I try to make things happen between us. So why wouldn’t you help me when I need it?”

The words echoed harshly between them.

On the other end, Amelia went quiet.

Completely quiet that he could hear her breathing faintly.

But she wasn’t interrupting nor was she arguing.

She was just listening.

And he kept going.

“I have stood by you. I made this trip happen. I have been present. So what is wrong with asking my own fiancée for help?”

Still silence.

The absence of her voice unsettled him.

“Say something,” he demanded.

When she finally spoke, her tone was calm.

Too calm.

“Yes, you don’t cheat,” she said slowly.

He scoffed, relieved she acknowledged it.

But then she continued.

“But at this juncture… I think I prefer my ex-husband who cheats… but provides every damn thing I need. Asks me for nothing.”

The words sliced clean through him.

“What?!” he exploded.

And the room suddenly felt too small for the fury rising inside him.